GIFT   OF 
Mrs. William  L.    Cook 


R1LEY  LOVE -LYRICS 
WITH  LIFE  PICTURES 


NEGHBORLY  POEMS 

SKETCHES  IN  PROSE  WITH  INTERLUUING  VERSES 

AFTERWHILES 

PIPES  O'  PAN  AT  ZEKESBURY  (Prose  and  Verse) 

RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD 

THE  FLYING  ISLANDS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

GREEN  FIELDS  AND  RUNNING  BROOKS 

ARMAZ1NDY 

A  CHILD-WORLD 

HOME-FOLKS 

HIS  PA'S  ROMANCE  (Portrait  by  Clay) 


GREENFIELD  EDITION 

Sold  only  in  sets.     Eleven  volumes  uniformly  bound  in  sage- 


green  cloth,  gilt  top 

The  same  in  half-calf...  .................  .  ......  27.00 


OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES   (English  Edition) 
THE  GOLDEN  YEAR  (English  Edition) 
POEMS  HERE  AT  HOME 
RUBA^YAT  OF  DOC  SIFERS 
THE  BOOK  OF  JOYOUS  CHILDREN 
RILEY  CHILD-RHYMES  (Pictures  by  Vawter) 
RILEY  LOVE-LYRICS   (Pictures  by  Dyer) 
RILEY  FARM-RHYMES  (Pictures  by  Vawter) 
RILEY  SONGS  O'  CHEER  (Pictures  by  Vawter) 
AN  OLD  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE  (Pictures  by  Christy) 
OUT  TO  OLD  AUNT  MARY'S  (Pictures  by  Christy) 
A  DEFECTIVE  SANTA  CLAUS  (Party  Pictures  by  Relyea 
and  Vawter) 


RILEY 


LOVE-LYRICS 


JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


WITH 

LIFE    PICTURES 

BY 

WILLIAM  B.  DYER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1883,  1887,  1888,  1890,  1891,  1892,  1894, 
1897,  1898,  1901,  1905 

by 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 
All  rights  reserved 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO- 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,   N.   Y. 


INSCRIBED 

To  THE  ELECT  OF  LOVE, — OR  SIDE-BY-SIDE 
IN  RAPTEST  ECSTASY,  OR  SUNDERED  WIDE 
BY  SEAS  THAT  BEAR  NO  MESSAGE  TO  OR  FRO 
BETWEEN  THE  LOVED  AND  LOST  OF  LONG  AGO. 


586417 


SO  were  I  but  a  minstrel,  deft 

At  weaving,  with  the  trembling  strings 
Of  my  glad  harp,  the  warp  and  weft 
Of  rondels  such  as  rapture  sings, — 
I'd  loop  my  lyre  across  my  breast, 
Nor  stay  me  till  my  knee  found  rest 
In  midnight  banks  of  bud  and  flower 
Beneath  my  lady's  lattice-bower. 

And  there,  drenched  with  the  teary  dews, 

I'd  woo  her  with  such  wondrous  art 
As  well  might  stanch  the  songs  that  ooze 
Out  of  the  mockbird's  breaking  heart; 
So  light,  so  tender,  and  so  sweet 
Should  be  the  words  I  would  repeatf 
Her  casement,  on  my  gradual  sight, 
Would  blossom  as  a  lily  might. 


PAGE 

BLOOMS  OF  MAY J85 

DISCOURAGING   MODEL,   A 133 

"DREAM" 4<5 

FARMER    WHIPPLE  — BACHELOR 167 

HAS   SHE  FORGOTTEN? 181 

HE  AND  I 83 

HE  CALLED  HER  IN 50 

HER   BEAUTIFUL    EYFS 60 

HER  HAIR     ..................  128 

HER  FACE   AND   BROW 63 

HER  WAITING  FACE          71 

HOME  AT  NIGHT 122 

How   IT   HAPPENED 95 

IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 107 

ILLILEO m 

JUDITH 79 

LAST  NIGHT  AND  THIS 131 

LEONAINIE 68 

(xv) 


CONTENTS — Continued 

LET   Us    FORGET .     .  64 

LOST  PATH,  THE ,     ,     .  87 

MY  BRIDE  THAT  Is  To  BE 90 

MY  MARY     . 117 

NOTHIN'  TO  SAY 103 

OLD  PLAYED-OUT  SONG,  A' 31 

OLD  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE,  AN 23 

OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW,  THE 72 

OUT-WORN  SAPPHO,  AN .......  37 

PASSING  OF  A  HEART,  THE 44 

RIVAL,  THE 148 

ROSE,  THE .     . 178 

SERMON   OF  THE  ROSE,   THE 189 

SONG  OF  LONG  AGO,  A 160 

SUSPENSE      .     .     .     ; 136 

THEIR  SWEET  SORROW 76 

To  HEAR  HER  SING 146 

TOM  VAN  ARDEN 139 

TOUCHES  OF  HER  HANDS,  THE 157 

VARIATION,  A 151 

VERY  YOUTHFUL  AFFAIR,   A     ...           36 

WHEN  AGE  COMES  ON     ....           164 

WHEN  LIDE  MARRIED  Him     .     .           125 

WHEN  MY  DREAMS  COME  TRUE gg 

WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME          67 

WHERE  SHALL  WE  LAND 154 

WIFE-BLESSED.  THE 115 


(xvi) 


LOVE-LYRICS •          •     FRONTISPIECE 

CONTENTS  —  TITLE xv 

ILLUSTRATIONS  —  TITLE xvn 

ILLUSTRATIONS  —  TAILPIECE xx 

AN  OLD  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE 23 

AND  I  LIGHT  MY  PIPE  IN  SILENCE 24 

THE  VOICES  OF  MY  CHILDREN     ..." 25 

THE  PINK  SUNBONNET 26 

WHEN   FIRST  I  KISSED  HER 27 

MY  WIFE  is  STANDING  THERE 30 

A'  OLD  PLAYED-OUT  SONG 33 

A'  OLD  PLAYED-OUT  SONG  —  TAILPIECE 35 

A  VERY  YOUTHFUL  AFFAIR 36 

AN  OUT-WORN  SAPPHO 41 

AN  OUT-WORN  SAPPHO  —  TAILPIECE 43 

THE  PASSING  OF  A  HEART  —  TITLE 44 

THE  PASSING  OF  A  HEART  —  TAILPIECE     .......  45 

(xvii) 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 

"DREAM" 47 

"DREAM"  —  TAILPIECE     . .49 

HE  CALLED  HER  IN  —  TITLE 50 

A  DARK  AND  EERIE  CHILD 51 

WHEN  SHE  FIRST  CAME  TO  ME 57 

HE  CALLED  HER  IN  —  TAILPIECE 59 

HER  BEAUTIFUL  EYES 61 

HER  FACE  AND  BROW  .     .     ....     *     .     .    j    .     .     .     .  63 

LET  Us  FORGET  —  TITLE 64 

OUR  WORN  EYES  ARE  WET     ..........  65 

WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME 67 

LEONAINIE  —  TITLE .     .  68 

LEONAINIE  —  TAILPIECE 70 

HER  WAITING  FACE    ..." 71 

THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW  —  TITLE 72 

I   SAW  THE   OLD  YEAR  END 73 

THEIR  SWEET  SORROW 77 

JUDITH 79 

0,  HER  EYES  ARE  AMBER-FINE 81 

HE  AND  I 85 

THE  LOST  PATH  — TITLE 87 

THE  LOST  PATH 89 

MADONNA-LIKE  AND  GLORIFIED 91 

How  IT  HAPPENED     .............  97 

WHEN  MY  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 101 

NOTHIN'  TO  SAY    .     . 105 


(xviii) 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 

IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER  —  TITLE 107 

IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER  —  TAILPIECE no 

ILLILEO 113 

WIFE-BLESSED,  THE 115 

THE  AULD  TRYSTING-TREE 119 

MY  MARY  —  TAILPIECE 121 

HOME  AT  NIGHT 123 

WHEN  LIDE  MARRIED  Him  —  TITLE 125 

WHEN    LIDE    MARRIED   Him  —  TAILPIECE     ......  127 

HER  HAIR 129 

LAST  NIGHT  AND  THIS  —  TITLE 131 

LAST  NIGHT  AND  THIS  —  TAILPIECE 132 

A  DISCOURAGING  MODEL  —  TITLE 133 

A   CAMEO  FACE 135 

SUSPENSE      .....     .     .     .     .     .     «     .     ...     .     .     .  137 

TOM  VAN  ARDEN  —  TITLE 139 

TOM  VAN  ARDEN 141 

To  HEAR  HER  SING 146 

THE  RIVAL 148 

A  VARIATION  —  TITLE 151 

WHERE  SHALL  WE  LAND?  —  TITLE 154 

WHERE  SHALL  WE  LAND?  —  TAILPIECE 156 

THE  TOUCHES  OF  HER  HANDS  —  TITLE .  157 

THE  TOUCHES  OF  HER  HANDS  —  TAILPIECE  ......  158 

0  RARELY  SOFT,  THE  TOUCHES  OF  HER  HANDS     ....  159 

A  SONG  OF  LONG  AGO 161 

WHEN  AGE  COMES  ON 165 

FARMER  WHIPPLE  —  BACHELOR  —  TITLE 167 

RIDIN'  HOME  WITH  MARY 171 

FARMER  WHIPPLE — BACHELOR  —  TAILPIECE      .     .     .     .     .  177 


ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 


THE    ROSE  — TITLE 

HAS  SHE  FORGOTTEN?     .     ........     .     . 

BLOOMS  OF  MAY  —  TITLE 

O    LAD    AND    LASS     . 

O   GLEAM  AND  GLOOM  AND  WOODLAND  BLOOM 
THE   SERMON   OF  THE    ROSE 


183 
185 
186 

187 
191 


(xx) 


RILEY  LOVE-LYRIGS 


AN  OLD  SWEETHEART  OF  MINE 

AS   ONE   who  cons   at   evening   o'er   an   album   all 
alone, 

And  muses  on  the  faces  of  the  friends  that  he  has  known, 
So  I  turn  the  leaves  of  fancy  till,  in  shadowy  design, 
I  find  the  smiling  features  of  an  old  sweetheart  of  mine. 

23 


AN    OLD    SWEETHEART    OF    MINE 


The  lamplight  seems  to  glimmer  with  a  flicker  of  surprise, 
As  I  turn  it  low  to  rest  me  of  the  dazzle  in  my  eyes, 
And  light  my  pipe  in  silence,  save  a  sigh  that  seems  to 

yoke 
Its  fate  with  my  tobacco  and  to  vanish  with  the  smoke. 

'Tis   a   fragrant  retrospection — for  the   loving  thoughts 

that  start 
Ir.to  being  are  like   perfume   from  the  blossom  of  the 

heart ; 

And  to  dream  the  old  dreams  over  is  a  luxury  divine — 
When  my  truant  fancy  wanders  with  that  old  sweetheart 

of  mine. 

24 


AN    OLD    SWEETHEART    OF    MINE 

Though  I  hear,  beneath  my  study,  like  a  fluttering  of 

wings, 

The  voices  of  my  children,  and  the  mother  as  she  sings, 
I  feel  no  twinge  of  conscience  to  deny  me  any  theme 
When  Care  has  cast  her  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  a  dream. 

In  fact,  to  speak  in  earnest,  I  believe  it  adds  a  charm 
To  spice  the  good  a  trifle  with  a  little  dust  of  harm — 
For  I  find  an  extra  flavor  in  Memory's  mellow  wine 
That  makes  me  drink  the  deeper  to  that  old  sweetheart 
of  mine. 


AN   OLD   SWEETHEART   OF   MINE 


A  face  of  lily-beauty,  with  a  form  of  airy  grace, 
Floats  out  of  my  tobacco  as  the  genii  from  the  vase ; 
And  I  thrill  beneath  the  glances  of  a  pair  of  azure  eyes 
As  glowing  as  the  summer  and  as  tender  as  the  skies. 

I  can  see  the  pink  sunbonnet  and  the  little  checkered  dress 
She  wore  when  first  I  kissed  her  and  she  answered  the 

caress 

With  the  written  declaration  that,  "  as  surely  as  the  vine 
Grew  round  the  stump,"  she  loved  me — that  old  sweet 
heart  of  mine. 

And  again  I  feel  the  pressure  of  her  slender  little  hand, 
As   we   used   to   talk   together   of   the   future    we   had 
planned — 

26 


AN    OLD    SWEETHEART    OF    MINE 

When  I  should  be  a  poet,  and  with  nothing  else  to  do 
But  write  the  tender  verses  that  she  set  the  music  to : 

When  we  should  live  together  in  a  cozy  little  cot 

Hid  in  a  nest  of  roses,  with  a  fairy  garden-spot, 

Where  the  vines  were  ever  fruited,  and  the  weather  ever 

fine, 
And  the  birds  were  ever  singing  for  that  old  sweetheart 

of  mine: 


When  I  should  be  her  lover  forever  and  a  day, 

And  she  my  faithful  sweetheart  till  the  golden  hair  was 

gray; 
And  we  should  be  so  happy  that  when  cither's  lips  were 

dumb 
They  would  not  smile  in  Heaven  till  the  other's  kiss  had 

come. 

********* 
29 


AN   OLD   SWEETHEART   OF    MINE 

But,  ah !  my  dream  is  broken  by  a  step  upon  the  stair, 
And  the  door  is  softly  opened,  and— my  wife  is  standing 

there ; 

Yet  with  eagerness  and  rapture  all  my  visions  I  resign 
To  greet  the  living  presence  of  that  old  sweetheart  of 

mine. 


A'    OLD    PLAYED-OUT    SONG 

IT'S  the  curiousest  thing  in  creation, 
Whenever  I  hear  that  old  song 
"Do  They  Miss  Me  at  Home,"  I'm  so  bothered, 

My  life  seems  as  short  as  it's  long ! — 
Fer  everything  'pears  like  adzackly 

It  'peared  in  the  years  past  and  gone, — 
When  I  started  out  sparkin',  at  twenty, 
And  had  my  first  neckercher  on ! 

Though  I'm  wrinkelder,  older  and  grayer 

Right  now  than  my  parents  was  then, 
You  strike  up  that  song  "Do  They  Miss  Me," 

And  I'm  jest  a  youngster  again ! — 
I'm  a-standin'  back  thare  in  the  furries 

A-wishin'  fer  evening  to  come, 
And  a-whisperin'  over  and  over 

Them  words  "Do  They  Miss  Me  at  Home?" 

You  see,  Marthy  Ellen  she  sung  it 
The  first  time  I  heerd  it;  and  so, 
31 


A     OLD    PLAYED-OUT    SONG 

As  she  was  my  very  first  sweethart, 

It  reminds  me  of  her,  don't  you  know ; — 

How  her  face  ust  to  look,  in  the  twilight, 
As  I  tuck  her  to  Spellin' ;  and  she 

Kep'  a-hummin'  that  song  tel  I  ast  her, 
Pine-blank,  ef  she  ever  missed  me! 

I  can  shet  my  eyes  now,  as  you  sing  it, 

And  hear  her  low  answerin*  words ; 
And  then  the  glad  chirp  of  the  crickets, 

As  clear  as  the  twitter  of  birds ; 
And  the  dust  in  the  road  is  like  velvet, 

And  the  ragweed  and  fennel  and  grass 
Is  as  sweet  as  the  scent  of  the  lilies 

Of  Eden  of  old,  as  we  pass. 

"Do  They  Miss  Me  at  Home?"     Sing  it  lower- 

And  softer — and  sweet  as  the  breeze 
That  powdered  our  path  with  the  snowy 

White  bloom  of  the  old  locus'-trees ! 
Let  the  whipperwills  he'p  you  to  sing  it, 

And  the  echoes  'way  over  the  hill, 
Tel  the  moon  boolges  out,  in  a  chorus 

Of  stars,  and  our  voices  is  still. 

32 


A'   OLD   PLAYED-OUT   SONG 

But  oh !     "They's  a  chord  in  the  music 

That's  missed  when  her  voice  is  away !" 
Though  I  listen  from  midnight  tel  morning, 

And  dawn  tel  the  dusk  of  the  day ! 
And  I  grope  through  the  dark,  lookin'  up'ards 

And  on  through  the  heavenly  dome, 
With  my  longin'  soul  singin'  and  sobbin' 

The  words  "Do  They  Miss  Me  at  Home?" 


35 


m 


A  VERY  YOUTHFUL  AFFAIR 

I'M  bin  a-visitun  'bout  a  week 
To  my  little  Cousin's  at  Nameless  Creek, 
An'  I'm  got  the  hives  an'  a  new  straw  hat, 
An'  I'm  come  back  home  where  my  beau  lives  at 

36 


AN   OUT-WORN  SAPPHO 

HOW  tired  I  am!     I  sink  down  all  alone 
Here  by  the  wayside  of  the  Present.     Lo, 
Even  as  a  child  I  hide  my  face  and  moan — 
A  little  girl  that  may  no  farther  go ; 
The  path  above  me  only  seems  to  grow 

More  rugged,  climbing  still,  and  ever  briered 
With  keener  thorns  of  pain  than  these  below ; 
And  O  the  bleeding  feet  that  falter  so 
And  are  so  very  tired ! 

Why,  I  have  journeyed  from  the  far-off  Lands 

Of  Babyhood — where  baby-lilies  blew 
Their  trumpets  in  mine  ears,  and  filled  my  hands 
With  treasures  of  perfume  and  honey-dew, 
And  where  the  orchard  shadows  ever  drew 

Their  cool  arms  round  me  when  my  cheeks  were  fired 
With  too  much  joy,  and  lulled  mine  eyelids  to, 
And  only  let  the  starshine  trickle  through 
In  sprays,  when  I  was  tired ! 

37 


AN   OUT-WORN    SAPPHO 

^et  I  remember,  when  the  butterfly 

Went  flickering  about  me  like  a  flame 
That  quenched  itself  in  roses  suddenly, 

How  oft  I  wished  that  /  might  blaze  the  same, 
And  in  some  rose-wreath  nestle  writh  my  name, 

While  all  the  world  looked  on  it  and  admired. — 
Poor  moth ! — Along  my  wavering  flight  toward  fame 
The  winds  drive  backward,  and  my  wings  are  lame 
And  broken,  bruised  and  tired ! 

I  hardly  know  the  path  from  those  old  times ; 

I  know  at  first  it  was  a  smoother  one 
Than  this  that  hurries  past  me  now,  and  climbs 
So  high,  its  far  cliffs  even  hide  the  sun 
And  shroud  in  gloom  my  journey  scarce  begun. 
I  could  not  do  quite  all  the  world  required — 
I  could  not  do  quite  all  I  should  have  done, 
And  in  my  eagerness  I  have  outrun 
My  strength — and  I  am  tired.  .  .  . 

Just  tired !     But  when  of  old  I  had  the  stay 
Of  mother-hands,  O  very  sweet  indeed 

It  was  to  dream  that  all  the  weary  way 

I  should  but  follow  where  I  now  must  lead— 

3* 


AN    OUT-WORN    SAPPHO 

For  long  ago  they  left  me  in  my  need, 

And,  groping  on  alone,  I  tripped  and  mired 
Among  rank  grasses  where  the  serpents  breed 
In  knotted  coils  about  the  feet  of  speed. — 
There  first  it  was  I  tired. 

And  yet  I  staggered  on,  and  bore  my  load 

Right  gallantly:  The  sun,  in  summer-time, 
In  lazy  belts  came  slipping  down  the  road 
To  woo  me  on,  with  many  a  glimmering  rhyme 
Rained  from  the  golden  rim  of  some  fair  clime, 

That,  hovering  beyond  the  clouds,  inspired 
My  failing  heart  with  fancies  so  sublime 
I  half  forgot  my  path  of  dust  and  grime, 
Though  I  was  growing  tired. 

And  there  were  many  voices  cheering  me : 

I   listened   to   sweet   praises   where   the   wind 
Went  laughing  o'er  my  shoulders  gleefully 
And  scattering  my  love-songs  far  behind; — 
Until,  at  last,  I  thought  the  world  so  kind — 

So  rich  in  all  my  yearning  soul  desired — 
So  generous — so  loyally  inclined, 
I  grew  to  love  and  trust  it.  ...  I  was  blind — 
Yea,  blind  as  I  was  tired ! 
39 


AN   OUT-WORN    SAPPHO 

And  yet  one  hand  held  me  in  creature-touch: 
And  O,  how  fain  it  was,  how  true  and  strong, 
How  it  did  hold  my  heart  up  like  a  crutch, 
Till,  in  my  dreams,  I  joyed  to  walk  along 
The  toilsome  way,  contented  with  a  song — 

'Twas  all  of  earthly  things  I  had  acquired, 
And  'twas  enough,  I  feigned,  or  right  or  wrong, 
Since,  binding  me  to  man — a  mortal  thong — 
It  stayed  me,  growing  tired.  .  .  . 

Yea,  I  had  e'en  resigned  me  to  the  strait 

Of  earthly  rulership — had  bowed  my  head 
Acceptant  of  the  master-mind — the  great 
One  lover — lord  of  all, — the  perfected 

Kiss-comrade  of  my  soul; — had  stammering  said 
My  prayers  to  him ; — all — all  that  he  desired 
I  rendered  sacredly  as  we  were  wed.— 
Nay — nay! — 'twas  but  a  myth  I  worshipped. — 
And — God  of  love! — how  tired! 

For,  O  my  friends,  to  lose  the  latest  grasp — • 
To  feel  the  last  hope  slipping  from  its  hold — 

To  feel  the  one  fond  hand  within  your  clasp 
Fall  slack,  and  loosen  with  a  touch  so  cold 

40 


AN   OUT-WORN    SAPPHO 

Its  pressure  may  not  warm  you  as  of  old 

Before  the  light  of  love  had  thus  expired — 
To  know  your  tears  are  worthless,  though  they  rolleo 
Their  torrents  out  in  molten  drops  of  gold. — 
God's  pity!     I  am  tired! 

And  I  must  rest. — Yet  do  not  say  "She  died," 

In  speaking  of  me,  sleeping  here  alone. 
I  kiss  the  grassy  grave  I  sink  beside, 
And  close  mine  eyes  in  slumber  all  mine  own : 
Hereafter  I  shall  neither  sob  nor  moan 

Nor  murmur  one  complaint ; — all  I  desired, 
And  failed  in  life  to  find,  will  now  be  known — 
So  let  me  dream.     Good  night !     And  on  the  stone 
Say  simply:     She  was  tired. 


o 


THE  PASSING  OF  A  HEART 
TOUCH  me  with  your  hands — 


For  pity's  sake ! 
My  brow  throbs  ever  on  with  such  an  ache 
As  only  your  cool  touch  may  take  away ; 
And  so,  I  pray 

You,  touch  me  with  your  hands ! 

Touch — touch  me  with  your  hands. — 

Smooth  back  the  hair 

You  once  caressed,  and  kissed,  and  called  so  fair 
That  I  did  dream  its  gold  would  wear  alway, 
And  lo,  to-day — 

O  touch  me  with  your  hands! 

44 


THE    PASSING    OF    A    HEART 

Just  touch  me  with  your  hands, 

And  let  them  press 

My  weary  eyelids  with  the  old  caress, 
And  lull  me  till  I  sleep.     Then  go  your  way, 
That  Death  may  say : 

He  touched  her  with  his  hands. 


45 


" DREAM  " 

BECAUSE  her  eyes  were  far  too  deep 
And  holy  for  a  laugh  to  leap 
Across  the  brink  where  sorrow  tried 
To  drown  within  the  amber  tide; 
Because  the  looks,  whose  ripples  kissed 
The  trembling1  lids  through  tender  mist, 
Were  dazzled  with  a  radiant  gleam — 
Because  of  this  I  called  her  "Dream." 

Because  the  roses  growing  wild 
About  her  features  when  she  smiled 
Were  ever  dewed  with  tears  that  fell 
With  tenderness  ineffable; 
Because  her  lips  might  spill  a  kiss 
That,  dripping  in  a  world  like  this, 
Would  tincture  death's  myrrh-bitter  stream 
To  sweetness — so  I  called  her  "Dream." 

Because  I  could  not  understand 
The  magic  touches  of  a  hand 


That  seemed,  beneath  her  strange  control, 
To  smooth  the  plumage  of  the  soul 
And  calm  it,  till,  with  folded  wings, 
It  half  forgot  its  flutterings, 
And,  nestled  in  her  palm,  did  seem 
To  trill  a  song  that  called  her  "Dream." 

Because  I  saw  her,  in  a  sleep 
As  dark  and  desolate  and  deep 
And  fleeting  as  the  taunting  night 
That  flings  a  vision  of  delight 
To  some  lorn  martyr  as  he  lies 
In  slumber  ere  the  day  he  dies — 
Because  she  vanished  like  a  gleam 
Of  glory,  do  I  call  her  "Dream." 


HE  CALLED  HER  IN 
I 

HE  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door. 
And  she  so  loved  the  sunshine  and  the  sky  !- 
She  loved  them  even  better  yet  than  I 
That  ne'er  knew  dearth  of  them — my  mother  dead, 
Nature  had  nursed  me  in  her  lap  instead : 
And  I  had  grown  a  dark  and  eerie  child 
That  rarely  smiled, 

Save  when,  shut  all  alone  in  grasses  high, 
Looking  straight  up  in  God's  great  lonesome  sky 
And  coaxing  Mother  to  smile  back  on  me. 
'Twas  lying  thus,  this  fair  girl  suddenly 
Came  to  me,  nestled  in  the  fields  beside 
A  pleasant-seeming  home,  with  doorway  wide — 
The  sunshine  beating  in  upon  the  floor 

50 


HE   CALLED    HER   IN 

Like  golden  rain. — 

0  sweet,  sweet  face  above  me,  turn  again 
And  leave  me!  I  had  cried,  but  that  an  ache 
Within  my  throat  so  gripped  it  I  could  make 
No  sound  but  a  thick  sobbing.     Cowering  so, 

1  felt  her  light  hand  laid 

Upon  my  hair — a  touch  that  ne'er  before 

Had  tamed  me  thus,  all  soothed  and  unafraid — 

It  seemed  the  touch  the  children  used  to  know 

When  Christ  was  here,  so  dear  it  was — so  dear, — 

At  once  I  loved  her  as  the  leaves  love  dew 

In  midmost  summer  when  the  days  are  new. 

Barely  an  hour  I  knew  her,  yet  a  curl 

Of  silken  sunshine  did  she  clip  for  me 

Out  of  the  bright  May-morning  of  her  hair, 

And  bound  and  gave  it  to  me  laughingly, 

And  caught  my  hands  and  called  me  "Little  girl," 

Tiptoeing,  as  she  spoke,  to  kiss  me  there ! 

And  I  stood  dazed  and  dumb  for  very  stress 

Of  my  great  happiness. 

She  plucked  me  by  the  gown,  nor  saw  how  mean 

The  raiment — drew  me  with  her  everywhere : 

Smothered  her  face  in  tufts  of  grasses  green : 

Put  up  her  dainty  hands  and  peeped  between 

Her  fingers  at  the  blossoms — crooned  and  talked 

To  them  in  strange,  glad  whispers,  as  we  walked, — 

Said  this  one  was  her  angel  mother — this, 

Her  baby-sister — come  back,  for  a  kiss, 


53 


HE    CALLED    HER    IN 

Clean  from  the  Good- World ! — smiled  and  kissed  them, 

then 

Closed  her  soft  eyes  and  kissed  them  o'er  again. 
And  so  did  she  beguile  me — so  we  played, — 
She  was  the  dazzling  Shine — I,  the  dark  Shade — 
And  we  did  mingle  like  to  these,  and  thus, 
Together,  made 

The  perfect  summer,  pure  and  glorious. 
So  blent  we,  till  a  harsh  voice  broke  upon 
Our  happiness. — She,  startled  as  a  fawn, 
Cried,  "Oh,  'tis  Father !" — all  the  blossoms  gone 
From  out  her  cheeks  as  those  from  out  her  grasp. — 
Harsher  the  voice  came: — She  could  only  gasp 
Affrightedly,   "  Good-bye ! — good-bye  !   good-bye !" 
And  lo,  I  stood  alone,  with  that  harsh  cry 
Ringing  a  new  and  unknown  sense  of  shame 
Through  soul  and  frame, 

And,   with   wet   eyes,   repeating  o'er   and   o'er, — 
"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door !" 


II 


He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door! 
And  I  went  wandering  alone  again — 
So  lonely — O  so  very  lonely  then, 

54 


HE   CALLED    HER   IN 

I  thought  no  little  sallow  star,  alone 

In  all  a  world  of  twilight,  e'er  had  known 

Such  utter  loneliness.     But  that  I  wore 

Above  my  heart  that  gleaming  tress  of  hair 

To  lighten  up  the  night  of  my  despair, 

I  think  I  might  have  groped  into  my  grave 

Nor  cared  to  wave 

The  ferns  above  it  with  a  breath  of  prayer. 

And  how  I  hungered  for  the  sweet,  sweet  face 

That  bent  above  me  in  my  hiding-place 

That  day  amid  the  grasses  there  beside 

Her  pleasant  home ! — "Her  pleasant  home !"  I  sighed, 

Remembering; — then  shut  my  teeth  and  feigned 

The  harsh  voice  calling  me,- — then  clinched  my  nails 

So  deeply  in  my  palms,  the  sharp  wounds  pained, 

And  tossed  my  face  toward  heaven,  as  one  who  pales 

In  splendid  martyrdom,  with  soul  serene, 

As  near  to  God  as  high  the  guillotine. 

And  I  had  envied  her?     Not  that — O  no! 

But  I  had  longed  for  some  sweet  haven  so! — 

Wherein  the  tempest-beaten  heart  might  ride 

Sometimes  at  peaceful  anchor,  and  abide 

Where  those  that  loved  me  touched  me  with  their  hands, 

And  looked  upon  me  with  glad  eyes,  and  slipped 

55 


HE   CALLED   HER   IN 

Smooth  fingers  o'er  my  brow,  and  lulled  the  strands 
Of  my  wild  tresses,  as  they  backward  tipped 
My  yearning  face  and  kissed  it  satisfied. 
Then  bitterly  I  murmured  as  before, — 
"He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  d^or !" 


Ill 


He  called  her  in  from  me  and  shut  the  door! 

After  long  struggling  with  my  pride  and  pain — 

A  weary  while  it  seemed,  in  which  the  more 

I  held  myself  from  her,  the  greater  fain 

Was  I  to  look  upon  her  face  again ; — 

At  last — at  last — half  conscious  where  my  feet 

Were  faring,  I  stood  waist-deep  in  the  sweet 

Green  grasses  there  where  she 

First  came  to  me. — 

The  very  blossoms  she  had  plucked  that  day, 

And,  at  her  father's  voice,  had  cast  away, 

Around  me  lay, 

Still  bright  and  blooming  in  these  eyes  of  mine ; 

And  as  I  gathered  each  one  eagerly, 

I  pressed  it  to  my  lips  and  drank  the  wine 

Her  kisses  left  there  for  the  honey-bee. 

Then,  after  I  had  laid  them  with  the  tress 

56 


HE    CALLED    HER    IN 

Of  her  bright  hair  with  lingering  tenderness, 

I,  turning,  crept  on  to  the  hedge  that  bound 

Her  pleasant-seeming  home — but  all  around 

Was  never  sign  of  her ! — The  windows  all 

Were  blinded ;  and  I  heard  no  rippling  fall 

Of  her  glad  laugh,  nor  any  harsh  voice  call; — 

But  clutching  to  the  tangled  grasses,  caught 

A  sound  as  though  a  strong  man  bowed  his  head 

And  sobbed  alone — unloved — uncomforted! — 

And  then  straightway  before 

My  tearless  eyes,  all  vividly,  was  wrought 

A  vision  that  is  with  me  evermore : — 

A  little  girl  that  lies  asleep,  nor  hears 

Nor  heeds  not  any  voice  nor  fall  of  tears. — 

And  I  sit  singing  o'er  and  o'er  and  o'er, — 

"God  called  her  in  from  him  and  shut  the  door!" 


HER  BEAUTIFUL  EYES 

OHER  beautiful  eyes !  they  are  blue  as  the  dew 
On  the  violet's  bloom  when  the  morning  is  new, 
And  the  light  of  their  love  is  the  gleam  of  the  sun 
O'er  the  meadows  of  Spring  where  the  quick  shadows 

run 
As  the  morn  shifts  the  mists  and  the  clouds  from  tli  2 

skies — 
So  I  stand  in  the  dawn  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 

And  her  beautiful  eyes  are  as  mid-day  to  me, 
When  the  lily-bell  bends  with  the  weight  of  the  bee, 
And  the  throat  of  the  thrush  is  a-pulse  in  the  heat, 
And  the  senses  are  drugged  with  the  subtle  and  sweet 
And  delirious  breaths  of  the  air's  lullabies — 
So  I  swoon  in  the  noon  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 

O  her  beautiful  eyes !  they  have  smitten  mine  own 
As  a  glory  glanced  down  from  the  glare  of  the  Throne; 
And  I  reel,  and  I  falter  and  fall,  as  afar 
Fell  the  shepherds  that  looked  on  the  mystical  Star, 
And  yet  dazed  in  the  tidings  that  bade  them  arise — 
So  I  groped  through  the  night  of  her  beautiful  eyes. 

60 


,J 


HER  FACE  AND  BROW 

AH,  help  me !  but  her  face  and  brow 
Are  lovelier  than  lilies  are 
Beneath  the  light  of  moon  and  star 
That  smile  as  they  are  smiling  now — 
White  lilies  in  a  pallid  swoon 
Of  sweetest  white  beneath  the  moon — • 
White  lilies,  in  a  flood  of  bright 
Pure  lucidness  of  liquid  light 
Cascading  down  some  plenilune, 
When  all  the  azure  overhead 
Blooms  like  a  dazzling  daisy-bed. — 
So  luminous  her  face  and  brow, 
The  luster  of  their  glory,  shed 
In  memory,  even,  blinds  me  now. 

63 


LET  US   FORGET 

LET  us  forget.     What  matters  it  that  we 
Once  reigned  o'er  happy  realms  of  long-ago, 

And  talked  of  love,  and  let  our  voices  low, 
And  ruled  for  some  brief  sessions  royally? 
What  if  we  sung,  or  laughed,  or  wept  maybe? 

It  has  availed  not  anything,  and  so 

Let  it  go  by  that  we  may  better  know 
How  poor  a  thing  is  lost  to  you  and  me. 

But  yesterday  I  kissed  your  lips,  and  yet 
Did  thrill  you  not  enough  to  shake  the  dew 

From  your  drenched  lids — and  missed,  with  no  regret, 
Your  kiss  shot  back,  with  sharp  breaths  failing  you : 

And  so,  to-day,  while  our  worn  eyes  are  wet 

With  all  this  waste  of  tears,  let  us  forget ! 


WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME 

WHEN  she  comes  home  again !  A  thousand  ways 
I  fashion,  to  myself,  the  tenderness 

Of  my  glad  welcome :    I  shall  tremble — yes ; 
And  touch  her,  as  when  first  in  the  old  days 
I  touched  her  girlish  hand,  nor  dared  upraise 

Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet  distress. 

Then  silence :     And  the  perfume  of  her  dress : 
The  room  will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haze 

Cloy  eyesight — soulsight,  even — for  a  space: 
And  tears — yes ;  and  the  ache  here  in  the  throat, 

To  know  that  I  so  ill  deserve  the  place 
Her  arms  make  for  me ;  and  the  sobbing  note 

I  stay  with  kisses,  ere  the  tearful  face 

Again  is  hidden  in  the  old  embrace. 


LEONATNTE 

LEONAINIE— Angels  named  her ; 
And  they  took  the  light 
Of  the  laughing  stars  and  framed  her 
In  a  smile  of  white ; 

68 


LEONAINIE 


And  they  made  her  hair  of  gloomy 
Midnight,  and  her  eyes  of  bloomy 
Moonshine,  and  they  brought  her  to  me 
In  the  solemn  night. — 


In  a  solemn  night  of  summer, 

When  my  heart  of  gloom 
Blossomed  up  to  greet  the  comer 
Like  a  rose  in  bloom ; 

All  forebodings  that  distressed  me 
I  forgot  as  Joy  caressed  me — 
(Lying  Joy !  that  caught  and  pressed  me 
In  the  arms  of  doom!) 


Only  spake  the  little  lisper 

In  the  Angel-tongue; 
Yet  I,  listening,  heard  her  whisper — 
"Songs  are  only  sung 

Here  below  that  they  may  grieve  you — 
Tales  but  told  you  to  deceive  you, — 
So  must  Leonainie  leave  you 
While  her  love  is  young." 


LEONAINIE 

Then  God  smiled  and  it  was  morning. 

Matchless  and  supreme 
Heaven's  glory  seemed  adorning 
Earth  with  its  esteem  : 

Every  heart  but  mine  seemed  gifted 
With  the  voice  of  prayer,  and  lifted 
Where  my  Leonainie  drifted 
From  me  like  a  dream. 


HER  WAITING  FACE 

In  some  strange  place 

Of  long-lost  lands   he   finds  her  waiting   face — • 
Comes  marveling  upon  it,  unaware, 
Set  moonwise  in  the  midnight  of  her  hair. 


THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW 

I 

AS  one  in  sorrow  looks  upon 
The  dead  face  of  a  loyal  friend, 
By  the  dim  light  of  New  Year's  dawn 
I  saw  the  Old  Year  end. 

Upon  the  pallid  features  lay 
^  The  dear  old  smile— so  warm  and  bright 
Ere  thus  its  cheer  had  died  away 
In  ashes  of  delight. 

The  hands  that  I  had  learned  to  love 
With  strength  of  passion  half  divine, 

Were  folded  now,  all  heedless  of 
The  emptiness  of  mine. 
72 


THE  OLD  YEAR  AND  THE  NEW 

The  eyes  that  once  had  shed  their  bright 
Sweet  looks  like  sunshine,  now  were  dull, 

And  ever  lidded  from  the  light 
That  made  them  beautiful. 


II 


The  chimes  of  bells  were  in  the  air, 

And  sounds  of  mirth  in  hall  and  street, 

With  pealing  laughter  everywhere 
And  throb  of  dancing  feet : 

The  mirth  and  the  convivial  din 

Of  revelers  in  wanton  glee, 
With  tunes  of  harp  and  violin 

In  tangled  harmony. 

But  with  a  sense  of  nameless  dread, 
I  turned  me,  from  the  merry  face 

Of  this  newcomer,  to  my  dead ; 
And,  kneeling  there  a  space, 

I  sobbed  aloud,  all  tearfully: — 

By  this  dear  face  so  fixed  and  cold, 

O  Lord,  let  not  this  New  Year  be 
As  happy  as  the  old ! 

75 


THEIR  SWEET  SORROW 

THEY  meet  to  say  farewell :     Their  way 
Of  saying  this  is  hard  to  say. — 
He  holds  her  hand  an  instant,  wholly 
Distressed — and  she  unclasps  it  slowly. 

He  bends  his  gaze  evasively 

Over  the  printed  page  that  she 

Recurs  to,  with  a  new-moon  shoulder 
Glimpsed  from  the  lace-mists  that  enfold  her. 

The  clock,  beneath  its  crystal  cup, 
Discreetly  dicks— "Quick!   Act!   Speak  up!" 
A  tension  circles  both  her  slender 
Wrists — and  her  raised  eyes  flash  in  splendor 

Even  as  he  feels  his  dazzled  own. — 
Then,  blindingly,  round  either  thrown, 
They  feel  a  stress  of  arms  that  ever 
Strain  tremblingly — and  "Never!  Never!" 

Is  whispered  brokenly,  with  half 

A  sob,  like  a  belated  laugh, — 

While  cloyingly  their  blurred  kiss  closes, 
Sweet  as  the  dew's  lip  to  the  rose's. 


JUDITH 

OHER  eyes  are  amber-fine — 
Dark  and  deep  as  wells  of  wine, 
While  her  smile  is  like  the  noon 
Splendor  of  a  day  of  June. 
If  she  sorrow — lo !  her  face 
It  is  like  a  flowery  space 

79 


JUDITH 

In  bright  meadows,  overlaid 

With  light  clouds  and  lulled  with  shade, 

If  she  laugh.— it  is  the  trill 

Of  the  wayward  whippoorwill 

Over  upland  pastures,  heard 

Echoed  by  the  mocking-bird 

In  dim  thickets  dense  with  bloom 

And  blurred  cloyings  of  perfume. 

If  she  sigh — a  zephyr  swells 

Over  odorous  asphodels 

And  wan  lilies  in  lush  plots 

Of  moon-drown'd  forget-me-nots. 

Then,  the  soft  touch  of  her  hand — 

Takes  all  breath  to  understand 

What  to  liken  it  thereto  !— 

Never  roseleaf  rinsed  with  dew 

Might  slip  soother-suave  than  slips 

Her  slow  palm,  the  while  her  lips 

Swoon  through  mine,  with  kiss  on  kiss 

Sweet  as  heated  honey  is. 


80 


HE  AND  I 

JUST  drifting  on  together- 
He  and  I- 
As  through  the  balmy  weather 

Of  July 

Drift  two  thistle-tufts  imbedded 
Each  in  each — by  zephyrs  wedded- 
Touring  upward,  giddy-headed, 
For  the  sky. 

And,  veering  up  and  onward, 

Do  we  seem 
Forever  drifting  dawn  ward 

In  a  dream, 

Where  we  meet  song-birds  that  know  us, 
And  the  winds  their  kisses  blow  us, 
While  the  years  flow  far  below  us 
Like  a  stream. 

And  we  are  happy — very — • 
He  and  I— 

83 


HE   AND   I 

Aye,  even  glad  and  merry 

Though  on  high 

The  heavens  are  sometimes  shrouded 
By  the  midnight  storm,  and  clouded 
Till  the  pallid  moon  is  crowded 

From  the  sky. 

My  spirit  ne'er  expresses 

Any  choice 
But  to  clothe  him  with  caresses 

And  rejoice; 
And  as  he  laughs,  it  is  in 
Such  a  tone  the  moonbeams  glisten 
And  the  stars  come  out  to  listen 
To  his  voice. 

And  so,  whate'er  the  weather, 

He  and  I,— 
With  our  lives  linked  thus  together. 

Float  and  fly 

As  two  thistle-tufts  imbedded 
Each  in  each — by  zephyrs  wedded — 
Touring  upward  giddy-headed, 

For  the  sky. 

84 


THE  LOST  PATH 

ALONE  they  walked — their  fingers  knit  together, 
And  swaying  listlessly  as  might  a  swing 
Wherein  Dan  Cupid  dangled  in  the  weather 
Of  some  sun-flooded  afternoon  of  Spring, 

87 


THE   LOST   PATH 

i 

Within  the  clover-fields  the  tickled  cricket 
Laughed  lightly  as  they  loitered  down  the  lane, 

And  from  the  covert  of  the  hazel-thicket 

The  squirrel  peeped  and  laughed  at  them  again. 

The  bumble-bee  that  tipped  the  lily-vases 
Along  the  road-side  in  the  shadows  dim, 

Went  following  the  blossoms  of  their  faces 

As  though  their  sweets  must  needs  be  shared  with  him. 

Between  the  pasture  bars  the  wondering  cattle 
Stared  wistfully,  and  from  their  mellow  bells 

Shook  out  a  welcoming  whose  dreamy  rattle 
Fell  swooningly  away  in  faint  farewells. 

And  though  at  last  the  gloom  of  night  fell  o'er  them 
And  folded  all  the  landscape  from  their  eyes, 

They  only  know  the  dusky  path  before  them 
Was  leading  safely  on  to  Paradise. 


88 


MY  BRIDE  THAT  IS  TO  BE 

OSOUL  of  mine,  look  out  and  see 
My  bride,  my  bride  that  is  to  be ! 

Reach  out  with  mad,  impatient  hands, 
And  draw  aside  futurity 
As  one  might  draw  a  veil  aside — 

And  so  unveil  her  where  she  stands 
Madonna-like  and  glorified — 

The  queen  of  undiscovered  lands 
Of  love,  to  where  she  beckons  me — 
My  bride — my  bride  that  is  to  be. 

The  shadow  of  a  willow-tree 
That  wavers  on  a  garden-wall 
In  summertime  may  never  fall 

In  attitude  as  gracefully 

As  my  fair  bride  that  is  to  be ; — 
Nor  ever  Autumn's  leaves  of  brown 

As  lightly  flutter  to  the  lawn 

As  fall  her  fairy-feet  upon 

Tiie  path  of  love  she  loiters  down. — 

O'er  drops  of  dew  she  walks,  and  yet 

Not  one  may  stain  her  sandal  wet — 

90 


MY    BRIDE    THAT    IS    TO    BE 

Aye,  she  might  dance  upon  the  way 
Nor  crush  a  single  drop  to  spray, 
So  airy-like  she  seems  to  me, — 
My  bride,  my  bride  that  is  to  be. 

I  know  not  if  her  eyes  are  light 
As  summer  skies  or  dark  as  night, — 
I  only  know  that  they  are  dim 
With  mystery:     In  vain  I  peer 
To  make  their  hidden  meaning  clear, 
While  o'er  their  surface,  like  a  tear 
That  ripples  to  the  silken  brim, 
A  look  of  longing  seems  to  swim 
All  worn  and  wearylike  to  me ; 
And  then,  as  suddenly,  my  sight 
Is  blinded  with  a  smile  so  bright, 
Through  folded  lids  I  still  may  see 
My  bride,  my  bride  that  is  to  be. 

Her  face  is  like  a  night  of  June 
Upon  whose  brow  the  crescent-moon 
Hangs  pendant  in  a  diadem 
Of  stars,  with  envy  lighting  them. — 

And,  like  a  wild  cascade,  her  hair 
Floods  neck  and  shoulder,  arm  and  wrist, 
Till  only  through  a  gleaming  mist 

I  seem  to  see  a  siren  there, 
With  lips  of  love  and  melody 


93 


MY   BRIDE   THAT   IS   TO   BE 

And  open  arms  and  heaving  breast 
Wherein  I  fling  myself  to  rest, 
The  while  my  heart  cries  hopelessly 
For  my  fair  bride  that  is  to  be     .      .     . 

Nay,  foolish  heart  and  blinded  eyes ! 
My  bride  hath  need  of  no  disguise. — 

But,  rather,  let  her  come  to  me 
In  such  a  form  as  bent  above 

My  pillow  when  in  infancy 
I  knew  not  anything  but  love. — 
O  let  her  come  from  out  the  lands 

Of  Womanhood — not  fairy  isles, — 
And  let  her  come  with  Woman's  hands 

And  Woman's  eyes  of  tears  and  smiles,- 
With  Woman's  hopefulness  and  grace 
Of  patience  lighting  up  her  face : 
And  let  her  diadem  be  wrought 
Of  kindly  deed  and  prayerful  thought, 
That  ever  over  all  distress 
May  beam  the  light  of  cheerfulness. — 
And  let  her  feet  be  brave  to  fare 
The  labyrinths  of  doubt  and  care, 
That,  following,  my  own  may  find 
The  path  to  Heaven  God  designed. — 
O  let  her  come  like  this  to  me — 
My  bride — my  bride  that  is  to  be. 


94 


HOW  IT  HAPPENED 

I  GOT  to  thinkin'  of  her — both  her  parents  dead  and 
gone— 

And  all  her  sisters  married  off,  and  none  but  her  and  John 
A-livin'  all  alone  there  in  that  lonesome  sort  o'  way, 
And  him  a  blame  old  bachelor,  confirmder  ev'ry  day ! 
I'd  knowed  'em  all  from  childern,  and  their  daddy  from 

the  time 

He  settled  in  the  neighberhood,  and  hadn't  ary  a  dime 
Er  dollar,  when  he  married,  fer  to  start  housekeepin' 

on! — 
So  I  got  to  thinkin'  of  her — both  her  parents  dead  and 

gone ! 

I  got  to  thinkin'  of  her ;  and  a-wundern  what  she  done 
That  all  her  sisters  kep'  a  gittin'  married,  one  by  one, 
And  her  without  no  chances — and  the  best  girl  of  the 

pack— 
An  old  maid,  with  her  hands,  you  might  say,  tied  behind 

her  back ! 

And  Mother,  too,  afore  she  died,  she  ust  to  jes'  take  on, 
When  none  of  'em  was  left,  you  know,  but  Evaline  and 

John, 

95 


HOW    IT    HAPPENED 

And  jes'  declare  to  goodness  'at  the  young  men  must  be 

bline 
To  not  see  what  a  wife  they'd  git  if  they  got  Evaline ! 

I  got  to  thinkin'  of  her ;  in  my  great  affliction  she 

Was  sich  a  comfert  to  us,  and  so  kind  and  neighberly, — 

She'd  come,  and  leave  her  housework,  fer  to  he'p  out 

little  Jane, 

And  talk  of  her  own  mother  'at  she'd  never  see  again — 
Maybe  sometimes  cry  together — though,  fer  the  most  part 

she 

Would  have  the  child  so  riconciled  and  happy-like  'at  we 
Felt  lonesomer  'n  ever  when  she'd  put  her  bonnet  on 
And  say  she'd  railly  haf  to  be  a-gittin'  back  to  John ! 

I  got  to  thinkin'  of  her,  as  I  say, — and  more  and  more 
I'd  think   of  her   dependence,   and  the  burdens   'at   she 

bore, — 

TTcr  parents  both  a-bein'  dead,  and  all  her  sisters  gone 
And  married  off,  and  her  a-livin'  there  alone  with  John — • 
You  might  say  jes'  a-toilin'  and  a-slavin'  out  her  life 
Fer  a  man  'at  hadn't  pride  enough  to  git  hisse'f  a  wife — 
'Less  some  one  married  Evaline  and  packed  her  off  some 

day  !— 
So  I  got  to  thinkin'  of  her — and  it  happened  thataway. 


-1 


WHEN  MY  DREAMS  COME  TRUE 
I 

WHEN   my   dreams   come   true — when   my   dreams 
come  true — 
Shall  I  lean  from  out  my  casement,  in  the  starlight  and 

the  dew, 

To  listen — smile  and  listen  to  the  tinkle  of  the  strings 
Of  the  sweet  guitar  my  lover's  fingers  fondle,  as  he  sings? 
And  as  the  nude  moon  slowly,  slowly  shoulders  into  view, 
Shall  I  vanish  from  his  vision — when  my  dreams  come 
true  ? 

When  my  dreams  come  true — shall  the  simple  gown  I 

wear 

Be  changed  to  softest  satin,  and  my  maiden-braided  hair 
Be  raveled  into  flossy  mists  of  rarest,  fairest  gold, 
To  be  minted  into  kisses,  more  than  any  heart  can  hold? — 
Or  "the  summer  of  my  tresses"  shall  my  lover  liken  to 
"The  fervor  of  his  passion" — when  my  dreams  come  true  ? 

99 


WHEN    MY    DREAMS    COME    TRUE 
II 

When  my  dreams  come  true — I  shall  bide  among  the 

sheaves 
Of  happy  harvest  meadows;   and   the   grasses   and  the 

leaves 
Shall  lift  and  lean  between  me  and  the  splendor  of  the 

sun, 
Till   the   noon   swoons   into   twilight,   and   the   gleaners' 

work  is  done — 

Save  that  yet  an  arm  shall  bind  me,  even  as  the  reapers  do 
The  meanest  sheaf  of  harvest — when  my  dreams  come 
true. 

When  my  dreams  come  true !  when  my  dreams  come  true ! 
True  love  in  all  simplicity  is  fresh  and  pure  as  dew ; — 
The  blossom  in  the  blackest  mold  is  kindlier  to  the  eye 
Than  any  lily  born  of  pride  that  looms  against  the  sky : 
And  so  it  is  I  know  my  heart  will  gladly  welcome  you, 
My  lowliest  of  lovers,  when  my  dreams  come  true. 


100 


N 


NOTHIN'  TO  SAY 

OTHIN'  to  say,   my   daughter!     Nothin'   at  all  to 

say! — 

Gyrls  that's  in  love,  I've  noticed,  ginerly  has  their  way! 
Yer   mother   did,   afore   you,   when   her   folks   objected 

to  me — 
Yit  here  I  am,  and  here  you  air ;  and  yer  mother — where 

is  she? 

You  look  lots  like  yer  mother :     Purty  much  same  in 

size; 
And  about  the  same  complected;  and  favor  about  the 

eyes: 
Like  her,  too,  about  livin'  here, — because  she  couldn't 

stay: 
It'll  'most  seem  like   you   was   dead — like  her! — But  I 

hain't  got  nothin'  to  say ! 
103 


NOTHIN     TO    SAY 

She  left  you  her  little  Bible — writ  yer  name  acrost  the 

page- 

And  left  her  ear  bobs  fer  you,  ef  ever  you  come  of  age. 
I've  allus  kep'  'em  and  gyuarded  'em,  but  ef  yer  goin' 

away — 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter!     Nothin'  at  all  to  say! 

You  don't  rikollect  her,  I  reckon?     No;   you  wasn't  a 

year  old  then ! 
And  now  yer — how  old  air  you?      W'y,  child,  not 

" 'twenty!"     When? 
And  yer  nex'  birthday's  in  Aprile?  and  you  want  to 

git  married  that  day? 
...  .1  wisht  yer  mother  was  livin' ! — But — I  hain't  got 

nothin'  to  say ! 

Twenty  year !  and  as  good  a  gyrl  as  parent  ever  found  ! 
There's  a  straw  ketched  onto  yer  dress  there — I'll  bresh 

it  off — turn  round. 

(Her  mother  was  jes'  twenty  when  us  two  run  away!) 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter !     Nothin'  at  all  to  say ! 


104 


IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

T  CRAVE,  dear  Lord, 

1  No  boundless  hoard 

Of  gold  and  gear, 

Nor  jewels  fine, 

Nor  lands,  nor  kine, 
Nor  treasure-heaps  of  anything.— 

Let  but  a  little  hut  be  mine 

107 


JKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

Where  at  the  hearthstone  I  may  hear 

The  cricket  sing, 
And  have  the  shine 
Of  one  glad  woman's  eyes  to  make, 
For  my  poor  sake, 

Our  simple  home  a  place  divine; — 
Just  the  wee  cot — the  cricket's  chirr — 
Love,  and  the  smiling  face  of  her. 

I  pray  not  for 

Great  riches,  nor 

For  vast  estates,  and  castle-halls, — 
Give  me  to  hear  the  bare  footfalls 
Of  children  o'er 
An  oaken  floor, 

New-rinsed  with  sunshine,  or  bespread 
With  but  the  tiny  coverlet 
And  pillow  for  the  baby's  head  ; 

And  pray  Thou,  may 

The  door  stand  open  and  the  day 
Send  ever  in  a  gentle  breeze, 
With  fragrance  from  the  locust-trees, 
And  drowsy  moan  of  doves,  and  blur 
Of  robin-chirps,  and  drone  of  bees, 

108 


IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

With  afterhushes  of  the  stir 
Of  intermingling  sounds,  and  then 

The  good-wife  and  the  smile  of  her 
Filling  the  silences  again— 
The  cricket's  call, 

And  the  wee  cot, 
Dear  Lord  of  all, 
Deny  me  not  I 


I  pray  not  that 
Men -tremble  at 

My  power  of  place 

And  lordly  sway, — 
I  only  pray  for  simple  grace 
To  look  my  neighbor  in  the  face 

Full  honestly  from  day  to  day- 
Yield  me  his  horny  palm  to  hold, 
And  I'll  not  pray 

For  gold ; — 

The  tanned  face,  garlanded  with  mirth, 
It  hath  the  kingliest  smile  on  earth— 
The  swart  brow,  diamonded  with  sweat, 
Hath  never  need  of  coronet. 

109 


IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER 

And  so  I  reach, 

Dear  Lord,  to  Thee, 
And  do  beseech 

Thou  givest  me 

The  wee  cot,  and  the  cricket's  chirr, 
Love,  and  the  glad  sweet  face  of  her. 


no 


ILLILEO 

f  LLILEO,  the  moonlight  seemed  lost  across  the  vales — 
1        The  stars  but  strewed  the  azure  as  an  armor's  scat 
tered  scales ; 

The  airs  of  night  were  quiet  as  the  breath  of  silken  sails ; 
And    all   your   words   were   sweeter   than    the   notes   of 
nightingales. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  garden  there  alone, 

With  your  figure  carved  of  fervor,  as  the  Psyche  carved 
of  stone, 

There  came  to  me  no  murmur  of  the  fountain's  under 
tone 

So  mystically,  musically  mellow  as  your  own. 

You    whispered  low,    Illileo — so    low    the    leaves    were 

mute, 

And  the  echoes  faltered  breathless  in  your  voice's  vain 

pursuit ; 

III 


ILLILEO 

And  there  died  the  distant  dalliance  of  the  serenaded 

lute: 
And  I  held  you  in  my  bosom  as  the  husk  may  hold  the 

fruit. 

Illileo,  I  listened.     I  believed  you.     In  my  bliss, 

What  were  all  the  worlds  above  me  since  I  found  you 

thus  in  this? — 
Let  them  reeling  reach  to  win  me — even  Heaven  I  would 

miss, 
Grasping    earthward ! — I    would    cling   here,    though    I 

clung  by  just  a  kiss  ! 

And    blossoms     should    grow    odorless — and    lilies    all 

aghast — 
And  I  said  the  stars  should  slacken  in  their  paces  through 

the  vast, 

Ere  yet  my  loyalty  should  fail  enduring  to  the  last. — 
vSo  vowed  I.     It  is  written.     It  is  changeless  as  the  past. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  shade  your  palace  throws 
Like  a  cowl  about  the  singer  at  your  gilded  porticos, 
A  moan  goes  with  the  music  that  may  vex  the  high  repose 
Of  a  heart  fiat  fades  and  crumbles  as  the  crimson  of 
a  rose. 

112 


THE   WIFE-BLESSED 


I 


T  N  youth  he  wrought,  with  eyes  ablur, 
A      Lorn-faced  and  long  of  hair — 
In  youth — in  youth  he  painted  her 

A  sister  of  the  air- 
Could  clasp  her  not,  but  felt  the  stir 

Of  pinions  everywhere. 


THE   WIFE-BLESSED 
II 

She  lured  his  gaze,  in  braver  days, 
And  tranced  him  sirenwise ; 

And  he  did  paint  her,  through  a  haze 
Of  sullen  paradise, 

With  scars  of  kisses  on  her  face 
And  embers  in  her  eyes. 


Ill 


And  now — nor  dream  nor  wild  conceit- 
Though  faltering,  as  before — 

Through  tears  he  paints  her,  as  is  meet, 
Tracing  the  dear  face  o'er 

With  lilied  patience  meek  and  sweet 
As  Mother  Mary  wore. 


116 


MY   MARY 

MY  Mary,  O  my  Mary! 
The  simmer-skies  are  blue ; 
The  dawnin'  brings  the  dazzle, 

An'  the  gloamin'  brings  the  dew,  • 
The  mirk  o'  nicht  the  glory 

O'  the  moon,  an'  kindles,  too, 
The  stars  that  shift  aboon  &*  lift. — 
But  nae  thing  brings  me  you! 

Where  is  it,  O  my  Mary, 

Ye  are  biding  a'  the  while? 
I  ha'  wended  by  your  window — 

I  ha'  waited  by  the  stile, 
An'  up  an'  down  the  river 

I  ha'  won  for  mony  a  mile, 
Yet  never  found,  adrift  or  drown'd, 

Your  lang-belated  smile. 

Is  it  forgot,  my  Mary, 
How  glad  we  used  to  be  ? — 


MY   MARY 

The  simmer-time  when  bonny  bloomed 

The  auld  trysting-tree, — 
How  there  I  carved  the  name  for 

An'  you  the  name  for  me; 
An'  the  gloamin'  kenned  it  only 

When  we  kissed  sae  tenderly. 

Speek  ance  to  me,  my  Mary ! — 

But  whisper  in  my  ear 
As  light  as  ony  sleeper's  breath, 

An'  a'  my  soul  will  hear ; 
My  heart  shall  stap  its  beating 

An'  the  soughing  atmosphere 
Be  hushed  the  while  I  leaning  smile 

An'  listen  to  you,  dear! 

My  Mary,  O  my  Mary ! 

The  blossoms  bring  the  bees; 
The  sunshine  brings  the  blossoms, 

An'  the  leaves  on  a'  the  trees ; 
The  simmer  brings  the  sunshine 

An'  the  fragrance  o'  the  breeze,-— 
But  O  wi'out  you,  Mary, 

I  care  nae  thing  for  these ! 

118 


MY    MARY 

We  were  sae  happy,  Mary! 

O  think  how  ance  we  said — 
Wad  ane  o'  us  gae  fickle, 

Or  ane  o'  us  lie  dead, — 
To  feel  anither's  kisses 

We  wad  feign  the  auld  instead^ 
An'  ken  the  ither's  footsteps 

In  the  green  grass  owerhead, 

My  Mary,  O  my  Maryi 

Are  ye  daughter  o'  the  air, 
That  ye  vanish  aye  before  me 

As  I  follow  everywhere? — 
Or  is  it  ye  are  only 

But  a  mortal,  wan  wi'  care?— 
Syne  I  search  through  a'  the  kirkyird 

An'  I  dinna  find  ye  there! 


121 


HOME   AT   NIGHT 

WHEN  chirping  crickets  fainter  cry, 
And  pale  stars  blossom  in  the  sky, 
And  twilight's  gloom  has  dimmed  the  bloom 
And  blurred  the  butterfly: 

When  locust-blossoms  fleck  the  walk, 
And  up  the  tiger-lily  stalk 
The  glow-worm  crawls  and  clings  and  falls 
And  glimmers  down  the  garden-walls : 

When  buzzing  things,  with  double  wings 
Of  crisp  and  raspish  flutterings, 
Go  whizzing  by  so  very  nigh 
One  thinks  of  fangs  and  stings : — 

O  then,  within,  is  stilled  the  din 
Of  crib  she  rocks  the  baby  in, 
And  heart  and  gate  and  latch's  weight 
Are  lifted — and  the  lips  of  Kate. 

122 


w 


WHEN   LIDE  MARRIED  HIM 


HEN  Lide  married  him — w'y>  she  had  to  jes  dee-fy 
The  whole  poppilation ! — But  she  never  bat'  an 

eye! 
Her  parents  begged,  and  threatened — she  must  give  him 

up — that  he 

Wuz  jes  "a  common  drunkard !" — And  he  wuz,  appear- 
antly. — 

125 


WHEN   LIDE   MARRIED  HIM 

Swore  they'd  chase  him  off  the  place 

Ef  he  ever  showed  his  face — 
Long  after  she'd  eloped  with  him  and  married  him  fer 

shore ! — 
When  Lide  married  him,  it  wuz  "Katy,  bar  the  door!" 


When  Lide  married  him — Well!  she  had  to  go  and  be 
A   hired  girl  in   town    somewheres — while   he   tromped 

round  to  see 
What  he  could  git  that  he  could  do, — you  might  say,  jes 

sawed  wood 
From  door  to  door! — that's  what  he  done — 'cause  that 

wuz  best  he  could ! 

And  the  strangest  thing,  i  jing! 
Wuz,  he  didn't  drink  a  thing, — 

But  jes  got  down  to  bizness,  like  he  someway  wanted  to, 
When  Lide  married  him,  like  they  warned  her  not  to  do ! 


When  Lide  married  him — er,  ruther,  had  ben  married 
A  little  up'ards  of  a  year — some  feller  come  and  carried 
That  hired  girl  away  with  him — a  ruther  stylish  feller 
In    a    bran-new   green    spring-wagon,    with   the   wheels 
striped  red  and  yeller: 
126 


WHEN    LIDE    MARRIED    HIM 

And  he  whispered,  as  they  driv 
Tords  the  country,  "Now  we'll  live!"— 
And  somepin'  else  she  laughed  to  hear,  though  both  her 

eyes  wuz  dim, 

'Bout  "trustin'  Love  and  Heav'n  above,  sence  Lide  mar 
ried  him!" 


127 


HER    HAIR 

THE  beauty  of  her  hair  bewilders  me — 
Pouring  adown  the  brow,  its  cloven  tide 
Swirling  about  the  ears  on  either  side 
And  storming  round  the  neck  tumultuous'fy : 
Or  like  the  lights  of  old  antiquity 

Through  mullioned  windows,  in  cathedrals  wide, 
Spilled  moltenly  o'er  figures  deified 
In  chastest  marble,  nude  of  drapery. 
And  so  I  love  it. — Either  unconfined ; 

Or  plaited  in  close  braidings  manifold; 
Or  smoothly  drawn  ;  or  indolently  twined 

In  careless  knots  whose  ceilings  come  unrolled 
At  any  lightest  kiss ;  or  by  the  wind 

Whipped  out  in  flossy  ravelings  of  gold. 


128 


LAST    NIGHT— AND    THIS 

LAST  night — how  deep  the  darkness  was ! 
And  well  I  knew  its  depths,  because 
I  waded  it  from  shore  to  shore, 
Thinking  to  reach  the  light  no  more. 


LAST    NIGHT   AND   THIS 

She  would  not  even  touch  my  hand. — • 
The  winds  rose  and  the  cedars  fanned 
The  moon  out,  and  the  stars  fled  back 
In  heaven  and  hid — and  all  was  black ! 

But  ah !  To-night  a  summons  came, 
Signed  with  a  teardrop  for  a  name, — 
For  as  I  wondering  kissed  it,  lo, 
A  line  beneath  it  told  me  so. 

And  now  the  moon  hangs  over  me 
A  disk  of  dazzling  brilliancy, 
And  every  star-tip  stabs  my  sight 
With  splintered  glitterings  of  light ! 


132 


A    DISCOURAGING    MODEL 


JUST  the  airiest,  fairiest  slip  of  a  thing, 
With  a  Gainsborough  hat,  like  a  butterfly's  wing, 
Tilted  up  at  one  side  with  the  jauntiest  air, 
And  a  knot  of  red  roses  sown  in  under  there 
Where  the  shadows  are  lost  in  her  hair. 

133 


A   DISCOURAGING    MODEL 

Then  a  cameo  face,  carven  in  on  a  ground 
Of  that  shadowy  hair  where  the  roses  are  wound ; 
And  the  gleam  of  a  smile  O  as  fair  and  as  faint 
And  as  sweet  as  the  masters  of  old  used  to  paint 
Round  the  lips  of  their  favorite  saint! 

And  that  lace  at  her  throat — and  the  fluttering  hands 
Snowing  there,  with  a  grace  that  no  art  understands 
The  flakes  of  their  touches — first  fluttering  at 
The  bow — then  the  roses — the  hair — and  then  that 
Little  tilt  of  the  Gainsborough  hat. 

What  artist  on  earth,  with  a  model  like  this, 
Holding  not  on  his  palette  the  tint  of  a  kiss, 
Nor  a  pigment  to  hint  of  the  hue  of  her  hair, 
Nor  the  gold  of  her  smile — O  what  artist  could  dare 
To  expect  a  result  half  so  fair? 


134 


SUSPENSE 

A  WOMAN'S  figure,  on  a  ground  of  night 
Inlaid  with  sallow  stars  that  dimly  stare 
Down  in  the  lonesome  eyes,  uplifted  there 

As  in  vague  hope  some  alien  lance  of  light 

Might  pierce  their  woe.     The  tears  that  blind  her  sight- 
Trie  salt  and  bitter  blood  of  her  despair — 
Her  hands  toss  back  through  torrents  of  her  hair 

And  grip  toward  God  with  anguish  infinite. 
And  O  the  carven  mouth,  with  all  its  great 

Intensity  of  longing  frozen  fast 

In  such  a  smile  as  well  may  designate 

The  slowly  murdered  heart,  that,  to  the  last 
Conceals  each  newer  wound,  and  back  at  Fate' 

Throbs  Love's  eternal  lie — "Lo,  I  can  wait  !'• 


136 


TOM   VAN   ARDEN 

TOM  VAN  ARDEN,  my  old  friend, 
Our  warm  fellowship  is  one 
Far  too  old  to  comprehend 

Where  its  bond  was  first  begun: 
Mirage-like  before  my  gaze 
Gleams  a  land  of  other  days, 
Where  two  truant  boys,  astray, 
Dream  their  lazy  lives  away. 

139 


TOM  VAN  ARDKN 

There's  a  vision,  in  the  guise 

Of  Midsummer,  where  the  Past 
Like  a  weary  beggar  lies 

In  the  shadow  Time  has  cast ; 
And  as  blends  the  bloom  of  trees 
With  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees, 
Fragrant  thoughts  and  murmurs  blend, 
Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend. 


Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend, 

All  the  pleasures  we  have  known 
Thrill  me  now  as  I  extend 

This  old  hand  and  grasp  your  own — 
Feeling,  in  the  rude  caress, 
All  affection's  tenderness  ; 
Feeling,  though  the  touch  be  rough. 
Our  old  souls  are  soft  enough. 

So  we'll  make  a  mellow  hour; 

Fill  your  pipe,  and  taste  the  wine — 
Warp  your  face,  if  it  be  sour, 
I  can  spare  a  smile  from  mine; 
If  it  sharpen  up  your  wit, 
Let  me  feel  the  edge  of  it — 
140 


TOM    VAN    ARDEN 

I  have  eager  ears  to  lend 

Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend 

Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend, 
Are  we  "lucky  dogs,"  indeed? 
Are  we  all  that  we  pretend 
In  the  jolly  life  we  lead? — 
Bachelors,  we  must  confess 
Boast  of  "single  blessedness" 
To  the  world,  but  not  alone — 
Man's  best  sorrow  is  his  OWIL 

And  the  saddest  truth  is  this,— 

Life  to  us  has  never  proved 
What  we  tasted  in  the  kiss 
Of  the  women  we  have  loved : 
Vainly  we  congratulate 
Our  escape  from  such  a  fate 
As  their  lying  lips  could  send, 
Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend ! 

Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend, 
Hearts,  like  fruit  upon  the  stem. 

Ripen  sweetest,  I  contend, 
As  the  frost  falls  over  them: 
143 


TOM    VAN    ARDEN 


Vour  regard  for  me  to-day 
Makes  November  taste  of  May, 
And  through  every  vein  of  rhyme 
Pours  the  blood  of  summertime. 


When  our  souls  are  cramped  with  youth 

Happiness  seems  far  away 
In  the  future,  while,  in  truth, 
We  look  back  on  it  to-day 

Through  our  tears,  nor  dare  to  boast,- 
"Better  to  have  loved  and  lost !" 
Broken  hearts  are  hard  to  mend, 
Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend. 


Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend, 

I  grow  prosy,  and  you  tire ; 
Fill  the  glasses  while  I  bend 
To  prod  up  the  failing  fire.  .  .  . 
You  are  restless  : — I  presume 
There's  a  dampness  in  the  room. — • 
Much  of  warmth  our  nature  begs, 
With  rheumatics  in  our  legs !  .  .  . 
144 


TOM    VAN   ARDEN 

Humph !  the  legs  we  used  to  fling 

Limber- jointed  in  the  dance, 
When  we  heard  the  riddle  ring 
Up  the  curtain  of  Romance, 
And  in  crowded  public  halls 
Played  with  hearts  like  jugglers'-balis.- 
Feats  of  mountebanks,  depend ! — 
Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend. 

Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend, 

Pardon,  then,  this  theme  of  mine : 
While  the  fire-light  leaps  to  lend 
Higher  color  to  the  wine, — 
I  propose  a  health  to  those 
Who  have  homes,  and  home's  repose, 
Wife  and  child-love  without  end! 
.  ,  .  Tom  Van  Arden,  my  old  friend. 


145 


TO  HEAR  HER  SING 

Thear  her  sing — to  hear  her  sing — 
It  is  to  hear  the  birds  of  Spring 
In  dewy  groves  on  blooming  sprays 
Pour  out  their  blithest  roundelays. 

It  is  to  hear  the  robin  trill 
At  morning,  or  the  whippoorwill 
At  dusk,  when  stars  are  blossoming 
To  hear  her  sing — to  hear  her  sing ! 

To  hear  her  sing — it  is  to  hear 
The  laugh  of  childhood  ringing  clear 
In  woody  path  or  grassy  lane 
Our  feet  may  never  fare  again. 
146 


TO   HEAR   HER   SING 

Faint,  far  away  as  Memory  dwells, 

It  is  to  hear  the  village  bells 

At  twilight,  as  the  truant  hears 

Them,  hastening  home,  with  smiles  and  tears 

Such  joy  it  is  to  hear  her  sing, 
We  fall  in  love  with  everything — 
The  simple  things  of  every  day 
Grow  lovelier  than  words  can  say. 

The  idle  brooks  that  purl  across 
The  gleaming  pebbles  and  the  moss, 
We  love  no  less  than  classic  streams — 
The  Rhines  and  Arnos  of  our  dreams. 

To  hear  her  sing — with  folded  eyes, 
It  is,  beneath  Venetian  skies, 
To  hear  the  gondoliers'  refrain, 
Or  troubadours  of  sunny  Spain. — 

To  hear  the  bulbul's  voice  that  shook 
The  throat  that  trilled  for  Lalla  Rookh : 
What  wonder  we  in  homage  bring 
Our  hearts  to  her — to  hear  her  sing! 


147 


THE  RIVAL 

SO  loved  once,  when  Death  came  by  I  hid 

Away  my  face, 
And  all  my  sweetheart's  tresses  she  undid 
To  make  my  hiding-place. 


I 


The  dread  shade  passed  me  thus  unheeding :  and 

I  turned  me  then 
To  calm  my  love — kiss  down  her  shielding  hand 

And  comfort  her  again. 

And  lo !  she  answered  not :     And  she  did  sit 

All  fixedly, 
With  her  fair  face  and  the  sweet  smile  of  it, 

In  love  with  Death,  not  me. 


14* 


A  VARIATION 

1AM  tired  of  this ! 
Nothing  else  but  loving! 
Nothing  else  but  kiss  and  kiss, 
Coo,  and  turtle-doving ! 

Can't  you  change  the  order  some? 
Hate  me  just  a  little — come! 


A   VARIATION 

Lay  aside  your  "dears," 

"Darlings,"  "kings,"  and  "princes !" 
Call  me  knave,  and  dry  your  tears — 
Nothing  in  me  winces, — 

Call  me  something  low  and  base — 
'omething  that  will  suit  the  case  t 

Wish  I  had  your  eyes 

And  their  drooping  lashes! 
I  would  dry  their  teary  lies 
Up  with  lightning-flashes — 

Make  your  sobbing  lips  unsheathe 
All  the  glitter  of  your  teeth ! 

Can't  you  lift  one  word — 

With  some  pang  of  laughter 

Louder  than  the  drowsy  bird 
Crooning  'neath  the  rafter? 
Just  one  bitter  word,  to  shriek 
Madly  at  me  as  I  speak ! 

How  I  hate  the  fair 

Beauty  of  your  forehead! 
152 


A  VARIATION 

How  I  hate  your  fragrant  hair ! 
How  I  hate  the  torrid 

Touches  of  your  splendid  lips, 
And  the  kiss  that  drips  and  drips  I 

Ah,  you  pale  at  last! 

And  your  face  is  lifted 
Like  a  white  sail  to  the  blast, 
And  your  hands  are  shifted 
Into  fists :  and,  towering  thus, 
You  are  simply  glorious ! 

Now  before  me  looms 

Something  more  than  human ; 
Something  more  than  beauty  blooms 
In  the  wrath  of  Woman- 
Something  to  bow  down  before 
Reverently  and  adore. 


153 


WHERE   SHALL  WE  LAND? 

"  Where  shall  we  land  you,  sweet?  "  —  Swinburne. 


A 


LL  listlessly  we  float 

Out  seaward  in  the  boat 
That  beareth  Love. 
Our  sails  of  purest  snow 
Bend  to  the  blue  below 
And  to  the  blue  above. 
Where  shall  we  land? 

154 


WHERE   SHALL   WE   LAND? 

We  drift  upon  a  tide 
Shoreless  on  every  side, 

Save  where  the  eye 
Of  Fancy  sweeps  far  lands 
Shelved  slopingly  with  sands 

Of  gold  and  porphyry. 
Where  shall  we  land? 


The  fairy  isles  we  see, 
Loom  up  so  mistily — 

So  vaguely  fair, 
We  do  not  care  to  break 
Fresh  bubbles  in  our  wake 

To  bend  our  course  for  there, 
Where  shall  we  land  ? 


The  warm  winds  of  the  deep 
Have  lulled  our  sails  to  sleep, 

And  so  we  glide 
Careless  of  wave  or  wind, 
Or  change  of  any  kind, 

Or  turn  of  any  tide. 

Where  shall  we  land? 

We  droop  our  dreamy  eyes 
Where  our  reflection  lies 
Steeped  in  the  sea, 

155 


WHERE    SHALL    WE    LAND? 

And,  in  an  endless  fit 
Of  languor,  smile  on  it 

And  its  sweet  mimicry. 

Where  shall  we  land? 

"Where  shall  we  land  ?"  God's  grace ! 
I  know  not  any  place 

So  fair  as  this — 
Swung  here  between  the  blue 
Of  sea  and  sky,  with  you 

To  ask  me,  with  a  kiss, 

" Where  shall  we  land  ?" 


156 


THE   TOUCHES   OF   HER   HANDS 

THE  touches  of  her  hands  are  like  the  fall 
Of  velvet  snowflakes ;  like  the  touch  of  down 
The  peach  just  brushes  'gainst  the  garden  wall; 
The  flossy  fondlings  of  the  thistle-wisp 

Caught  in  the  crinkle  of  a  leaf  of  brown 
The  blighting  frost  hath  turned  from  green  to  crisp, 

157 


THE  TOUCHES  OF  HER   HANDS 

Soft  as  the  falling  of  the  dusk  at  night, 
The  touches  of  her  hands,  and  the  delight— 

The  touches  of  her  hands ! 
The  touches  of  her  hands  are  like  the  dew 
That  falls  so  softly  down  no  one  e'er  knew 
The  touch  thereof  save  lovers  like  to  one 
Astray  in  lights  where  ranged  Endymion. 

O  rarely  soft,  the  touches  of  her  hands, 
As  drowsy  zephyrs  in  enchanted  lands ; 

Or  pulse  of  dying  fay ;  or  fairy  sighs ; 
Or — in  between  the  midnight  and  the  dawn, 
When  long  unrest  and  tears  and  fears  are  gone — 

Sleep,  smoothing  down  the  lids  of  weary  eyes. 


A  SONG  OF  LONG  AGO 

A  SONG  of  Long  Ago: 
Sing  it  lightly — sing  it  low — 
Sing  it  softly — like  the  lisping  of  the  lips  we 

used  to  know 

When  our  baby-laughter  spilled 
From  the  glad  hearts  ever  rilled 
With  music  blithe  as  robin  ever  trilled! 

Let  the  fragrant  summer-breeze, 

And  the  leaves  of  locust-trees, 

And  the  apple-buds  and  blossoms,  and  the 

wings  of  honey-bees, 
All  palpitate  with  glee, 
Till  the  happy  harmony 
Brings  back  each  childish  joy  to  you  and  me. 

Let  the  eyes  of  fancy  turn 
Where  .the  twmfyled  pirjpins  burn 
Like  ^fibers  in  the  orchard's  lap  of  tangled 
'  [   grass  and  fern,— 
160 


A    SONG   OF    LONG   AGO 

There  let  the  old  path  wind 

In  and  out  and  on  behind 

The  cider-press  that  chuckles  as  we  grind. 

Blend  in  the  song  the  moan 

Of  the  dove  that  grieves  alone, 

And  the  wild  whir  of  the  locust,  and  the 

bumble's  drowsy  drone ; 
And  the  low  of  cows  that  call 
Through  the  pasture-bars  when  all 
The  landscape  fades  away  at  evenfali. 

Then,  far  away  and  clear, 

Through  the  dusky  atmosphere, 

Let  the  wailing  of  the  kildee  be  the  only 

sound  we  hear: 
O  sad  and  sweet  and  low 
\s  the  memory  may  know 
Is  the  glad-pathetic  song  of  Long  Ago ! 


163 


WHEN   AGE    COMES    ON 

WHEN  Age  comes  on ! — 
The  deepening  dusk  is  where  the  dawn 
Once  glittered  splendid,  and  the  dew 
In  honey-drips,  from  red  rose-lips 

Was  kissed  away  by  me  and  you. — 
And  now  across  the  frosty  lawn 
Black  foot-prints  trail,  and  Age  comes  on — 

And  Age  comes  on ! 
And  biting  wild-winds  whistle  through 
Our  tattered  hopes — and  Age  comes  on ! 

When  Age  comes  on! — 

O  tide  of  raptures,  long  withdrawn, 

Flow  back  in  summer-floods,  and  fling 
Here  at  our  feet  our  childhood  sweet, 

And  all  the  songs  we  used  to  sing!  .  .  . 
Old  loves,  old  friends — all  dead  and  gone— 
Our  old  faith  lost — and  Age  comes  on — 
And  Age  comes  on ! 

Poor  hearts !  have  we  not  anything 
But  longings  left  when  Age  comes  oni 

164 


i 


FARMER    WHIPPLE— BACHELOR 

T'S  a  mystery  to  see  me — a  man  o'  fifty-four, 
Who's  lived  a  cross  old  bachelor  fer  thirty  year'  and 

more — 
A-lookin'   glad   and    smilin'I     And   they's   none   o'   you 

can  say 

That   you   can    guess   the    reason    why   I    feel    so   good 
to-day ! 

167 


FARMER    WHIPPLE BACHELOR 

I  must  tell  you  all  about  it!     But  I'll  have  to  deviate 
A  little  in  beginning  so's  to  set  the  matter  straight 
As  to  how  it  comes  to  happen  that  I  never  took  a  wife — 
Kind  o'  "crawfish"  from  the  Present  to  the  Springtime 
of  my  life ! 

I  was  brought  up  in  the  country :     Of  a  family  of  five — 
Three  brothers  and  a  sister — I'm  the  only  one  alive, — 
Per  they  all  died  little  babies ;  and  'twas  one  o'  Mother's 

ways, 
You  know,  to  want  a  daughter;  so  she  took  a  girl  to 

raise. 

The  sweetest  little  thing  she  was,  with  rosy  cheeks,  and 

fat- 

We  was  little  chunks  o'  shavers  then  about  as  high  as 

that ! 
But  someway  we  sort  o'  suited-likel  and  Mother  she'd 

declare 
She  never  laid  her  eyes  on  a  more  lovin'  pair 

Than  we  was !     So  we  growed  up  side  by  side  fer  thir 
teen  year', 

And  every  hour  of  it  she  growed  to  me  more  dear! — 
W'y,  even  Father's  dyin',  as  he  did,  I  do  believe 
Warn't  more  affectin'  to  me  than  it  was  to  see  her  grieve  1 

168 


FARMER    WHTPPLE BACHELOR 

I  was  then  a  lad  o'  twenty ;  and  I  felt  a  flash  o'  pride 
In  thinkin'  all  depended  on  me  now  to  pervide 
Per  Mother  and  fer  Mary ;  and  I  went  about  the  place 
With    sleeves    rolled   up — and   workin',    with   a   mighty 
smilin'  face. — 

Fer  sompin'  else  was  workin' !  but  not  a  word  I  said 
Of  a  certain  sort  o'  notion  that  was  runnin'  through  my 

head, — 

"Someday  I'd  mayby  marry,  and  a  brother's  love  was  one 
Thing — a  lover's  was  another!"  was  the  way  the  notion 

run! 

I  remember  onc't  in  harvest,  when  the  "cradle-in'  "  was 
done — 

When  the  harvest  of  my  summers  mounted  up  to  twen 
ty-one 

I  was  ridin'  home  with  Mary  at  the  closin'  o'  the  day — 

A-chawin'   straws  and  thinkin',  in  a  kn  er's  lazy   way ! 

And  Mary's  cheeks  was  burnin'   like  the  sunset  down 

the  lane : 

I  noticed  she  was  thinkin',  too,  and  ast  her  to  explain. 
Well — when  she  turned  and  kissed  me,  with  her  arms 

around  me — law! 
I'd  a  bigger  load  o'  heaven  than  I  had  a  load  o'  straw! 

169 


FARMER    WHIPPLE BACHELOR 

I  don't  p'tend  to  learnin',  but  I'll  tell  you  what's  a  fact, 
They's  a  mighty  truthful  sayin'  somers  in  a'  almanack— 
Er     somers — 'bout     "puore     happiness" — perhaps     some 

folks  '11  laugh 
At  the  idy — "only  lastin'  jest  two  seconds  and  a  half." — 

But  its  jest  as  true  as  preachiir  ! — fer  that  was  a  sister's 

kiss, 

And  a  sister's  lovin'  confidence  a-tellin'  to  me  this : — 
"She  was  happy,  bcin'  promised  to  the  son  o    farmer 

Brown." — • 
And  my   feelin's  struck  a  pardncrship  with  sunset  and 

went  down ! 

I  don't  know  how  I  acted — I  don't  know  what  I  said, 
Fer  my  heart  seemed  jest  a-turnin'  to  an  ice-cold  lump 

o'  lead; 

And  the  bosses  kindo'  glimmered  before  me  in  the  road. 
And  the  lines  fell  from  my  fingers — and  that  was  all  I 

k  no  wed — • 

Fer — well,   I   don't   know   how  long — They's  a   dim   re- 

memberence 
Of  a  sound  o'  snortin'  bosses,  and  a  stake-and-ridered 

fence 

A-whizzin'  past,  and  wheat-sheaves  a-dancin'  in  the  air, 

170 


FARMER  WHIFFLE  —  BACHELOR 

And   Mary   screamin'  "Murder 1"   and  a-runnin'  up  to 
where 

/  was   layin'  by  the   roadside,   and   the   wagon   upside 

down 
A-leanin'  on  the  gate-post,  with  the  wheels  a  whirlin' 

round ! 
And  I  tried  to  raise  and  meet  her,  but  I  couldn't,  with 

a  vague 
Sorto'  notion  comin'  to  me  that  I  had  a  broken  leg. 

Well,  the   women   nussed   me  through   it;   but  many  a 

time  I'd  sigh 

As  I'd  keep  a-gittin'  better  instid  o'  goin'  to  die, 
And  wonder  what  was  left  me  worth  livin'  fer  below, 
When  the  girl  I  loved  was  married  to  another,  don't 

you  know ! 

And  my   thoughts  was   as   rebellious   as   the   folks   was 

good  and  kind 
When  Brown   and   Mary  married — Railly  must  a-been 

my  mind 

Was  kindo'  out  o'  kilter! — fer  I  hated  Brown,  you  see, 
Worse'n  pizen — and  the  feller  whittled  crutches  out  fer 

me — 


173 


FARMER   WHIPPLE  —  BACHELOR 

And  done  a  thousand  little  ac's  o'  kindness  and  respeci — 
And  me  a-wishin'  all  the  time  that  I  could  break  his 

neck ! 

My  relief  was  like  a  mourner's  when  the  funeral  is  done 
When  they  moved  to  Illinois  in  the  Fall  o'  Forty-one. 

Then  I  went  to  work  in  airnest — I  had  nothin'  much  in 

view 
But  to  drown'd  out  rickollections — and  it  kep'  me  busy, 

too! 
But  I  slowly  thrived  and  prospered,  tel  Mother  used  to 

say 
She  expected  yit  to  see  me  a  wealthy  man  some  day. 

Then  I'd  think  how  little  money  was,  compared  to  hap 
piness — 

And  who'd  be  left  to  use  it  when  I  died  I  couldn't  guess ! 
But  I've  still  kep'  speculatin'  and  a-gainin'  year  by  year, 
Tel  I'm  payin'  half  the  taxes  in  the  county,  mighty  near! 

Well! — A  year  ago  er  better,  a  letter  comes  t3  hand 
Astin'  how  I'd  like  to  dicker  fer  some  Illinois  land — 
"The  feller  that  had  owned  it,"  it  went  ahead  to  state, 
"Had  jest  deceased,  insolvent,  leavin'  chance  to  specu 
late/'— 


174 


FARMER    WHIPPLE BACHELOR 

And  then  it  closed  by  sayin'  that  I'd  "better  come  aric 


see. 


I'd  never  been  West,  anyhow — a  most  too  wild  fer  Wt 
I'd  allus  had  a  notion;  but  a  lawyer  here  in  town 
Said  I'd  find  myself  mistakened  when  I   come  to  look 
around, 

So  I  bids  good-bye  to  Mother,  and  I  jumps  aboard  the 

train, 
A-thinkin'  what  I'd  bring  her  when  I  come  back  home 

again — 

And  ef  she'd  had  an  idy  what  the  present  was  to  be, 
I  think  it's  more'n  likely  she'd  a-went  along  with  me ! 

Cars  is  awful  tejus  ridin',  fer  all  they  go  so  fast! 
But  finally  they  called  out  my  stoppin'-place  at  last ; 
And  that  night,  at  the  tavern,  I  dreamp'  7  was  a  train 
O'  cars,  and  skecred  at  sompin',  runnin'  down  a  countr} 
lane! 

Well,  in  the  mornin'  airly — after  huntin'  up  the  man — 
The  lawyer  who  was  wantin'  to  swap  the  piece  o'  land— 
We  started  fer  the  country ;  and  I  ast  the  history 
Of  the  farm — its  former  owner — and  so-forth,  etcetery! 

175 


FARMER    WHIPPLE BACHELOR 

And — well — it  was  interest'm' — I  su-prised  him,  I  sup 
pose, 

By  the  loud  and  frequent  manner  in  which  I  blowed  my 
nose ! — 

But  his  su-prise  was  greater,  and  it  made  him  wonder 
more, 

When  I  kissed  and  hugged  the  widder  when  she  met 
us  at  the  door! — 


ft  was  Mary:  They's  a  feelin'  a-hidin'  down  in  here — 
Of  course  I  can't  explain  it,  ner  ever  make  it  clear. — 
It  was  with  us  in  that  meetin',  I  don't  want  you  to 

fergit ! 
And  it  makes  me  kind  o'  nervous  when  I  think  about 

it  yit ! 

I  bought  that  farm,  and  deeded  it,  afore  I  left  the  town, 
With  ''title  clear  to  mansions  in  the  skies,"  to  Mary 

Brown ! 
And  fu'thermore,  I  took  her  and  the  childern — fer,  you 

see, 
They'd  never  seed  their  Grandma — and  I   fetched   'em 

home  with  me. 

176 


FARMER    WHIPPLE BACHELOR 

So  now  you've  got  an  idy  why  a  man  o'  fifty-four, 
Who's   lived  a  cross  old  bachelor   fer  thirty  year'   and 

more, 
Is  a-lookin'  glad  and  smilin'! — And  IVe  jest  come  into 

town 
To  git  a  pair  o'  license  fer  to  marry  Mary  Brown. 


177 


THE  ROSE 

IT  tossed  its  head  at  the  wooing  breeze ; 
And  the  sun,  like  a  bashful  swain, 
Beamed  on  it  through  the  waving  trees 

With  a  passion  all  in  vain, — 
For  my  rose  laughed  in  a  crimson  glee, 
And  hid  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me. 

178 


THE   ROSE 

The  honey-bee  came  there  to  sing 
His  love  through  the  languid  hours, 

And  vaunt  of  his  hives,  as  a  proud  old  king 
Might  boast  of  his  palace-towers : 

But  my  rose  bowed  in  a  mockery, 

And  hid  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me. 


The  humming-bird,  like  a  courtier  gay, 
Dipped  down  with  a  dalliant  song, 

And  twanged  his  wings  through  the  roundelaj 
Of  love  the  whole  day  long : 

Yet  my  rose  turned  from  his  minstrelsy 

And  hid  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me= 


The  firefly  came  in  the  twilight  dim 

My  red,  red  rose  to  woo — 
Till  quenched  was  the  flame  of  love  in  him 

And  the  light  of  his  lantern  too, 
As  my  rose  wept  with  dewdrops  three 
And  hid  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me. 

And  I  said :  I  will  cull  my  own  sweet  rose—" 
Some  day  I  will  claim  as  mine 

179 


THE    ROSE 

The  priceless  worth  of  the  flower  that  knows 

No  change,  but  a  bloom  divine — 
The  bloom  of  a  fadeless  constancy 
That  hides  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me! 

But  time  passed  by  in  a  strange  disguise, 

And  I  marked  it  not,  but  lay 
In  a  lazy  dream,  with  drowsy  eyes, 

Till  the  summer  slipped  away, 
And  a  chill  wind  sang  in  a  minor  key : 
"Where  is  the  rose  that  waits  for  thee?" 


I  dream  to-day,  o'er  a  purple  stain 
Of  bloom  on  a  withered  stalk, 

Pelted  down  by  the  autumn  rain 
In  the  dust  of  the  garden-walk, 

That  an  Angel-rose  in  the  world  to  be 

Will  hide  in  the  leaves  in  wait  for  me,, 


180 


HAS    SHE   FORGOTTEN? 

I 

HAS  she  forgotten  ?     On  this  very  May 
We  were  to  meet  here,  with  the  birds  and  bees, 
As  on  that  Sabbath,  underneath  the  trees 
We  strayed  among  the  tombs,  and  stripped  away 
The  vines  from  these  old  granites,  cold  and  gray — 
And  yet  indeed  not  grim  enough  were  they 
To  stay  our  kisses,  smiles  and  ecstasies, 
Or  closer  voice-lost  vows  and  rhapsodies. 
Has  she  forgotten — that  the  May  has  won 
Its  promise? — that  the  bird-songs  from  the  tree 
Are  sprayed  above  the  grasses  as  the  sun 
Might  jar  the  dazzling  dew  down  showeringly? 
Has  she  forgotten  life — love — everyone — 
Has  she  forgotten  me — forgotten  me? 


II 


Low,  low  down  in  the  violets  I  press 
My  lips  and  whisper  to  her.     Does  she  hear, 
And  yet  hold  silence,  though  I  call  her  dear, 
Just  as  of  old,  save  for  the  tearfulness 

181 


HAS   SHE  FORGOTTEN  ? 

Of  the  clenched  eyes,  and  the  soul's  vast  distress  ? 

Has  she  forgotten  thus  the  old  caress 

That  made  our  breath  a  quickened  atmosphere 

That  failed  nigh  unto  swooning  with  the  sheer 

Delight  ?  Mine  arms  clutch  now  this  earthen  heap 

Sodden  with  tears  that  flow  on  ceaselessly 

As  autumn  rains  the  long,  long,  long  nights  weep 

In  memory  of  days  that  used  to  be, — 

Has  she  forgotten  these?     And  in  her  sleep, 

Has  she  forgotten  me — forgotten  me? 


Ill 


To-night,  against  my  pillow,  with  shut  eyes, 

I  mean  to  weld  our  faces— -through  the  dense 

Incalculable  darkness  make  pretense 

That  she  has  risen  from  her  reveries 

To  mate  her  dreams  with  mine  in  marriages 

Of  mellow  palms,  smooth  faces,  and  tense  ease 

Of  every  longing  nerve  of  indolence, — 

Lift  from  the  grave  her  quiet  lips,  and  stun 

My  senses  with  her  kisses — drawl  the  glee 

Of  her  glad  mouth,  full  blithe  and  tenderly, 

Across  mine  own,  forgetful  if  is  done 

The  old  love's  awful  dawn-time  when  said  we, 

"To-day  is  ours !"....  Ah,  Heaven !  can  it  be 

She  has  forgotten  me — forgotten  me! 


182 


BLOOMS   OF   MAY 

IUT  yesterday!     .... 

O  blooms  of  May, 
And  summer  roses — Where-away? 
O  stars  above, 
And  lips  of  love 
And  all  the  honeyed  sweets  thereof! 

185 


BLOOMS   OF    MAY 


O  lad  and  lass 

And  orchard-pass, 

And  briered  lane,  and  daisied  grass  I 

O  gleam  and  gloom, 

And  woodland  bloom, 

And  breezy  breaths  of  all  perfume  !— 

No  more  for  me 

Or  mine  shall  be 

Thy  raptures — save  in  memory, — 

No  more — no  more — 

Till  through  the  Door 

Of  Glory  gleam  the  days  of  yore, 

186 


m 


THE   SERMON    OF   THE   ROSE 

WILFUL  we  are  in  our  infirmity 
Of  childish  questioning  and  discontent. 
Whatever  befalls  us  is  divinely  meant — 
Thou  Truth  the  clearer  for  thy  mystery ! 
Make  us  to  meet  what  is  or  is  to  be 
With  fervid  welcome,  knowing  it  is  sent 
To  serve  us  in  some  way  full  excellent, 
Though  we  discern  it  all  belatedly. 
The  rose  buds,  and  the  rose  blooms  and  the  rose 
Bows  in  the  dews,  and  in  its  fulness,  lo, 
Is  in  the  lover's  hand, — then  on  the  breast 
Of  her  he  loves, — and  there  dies. — And  who  knows 
Which  fate  of  all  a  rose  may  undergo 
Is  fairest,  dearest,  sweetest,  loveliest? 

Nay  we  are  children :  we  will  not  mature. 
A  blessed  gift  must  seem  a  theft ;  and  tears 
Must  storm  our  eyes  when  but  a  joy  appears 
In  drear  disguise  of  sorrow;  and  how  poor 

189 


THE   SERMON   OF  THE   ROSE 

We  seem  when  we  are  richest, — most  sec  are 

Against  all  poverty  the  lifelong  years 

We  yet  must  waste  in  childish  doubts  and  fears 

That,  in  despite  of  reason,  still  endure! 

Alas !  the  sermon  of  the  rose  we  will 

Not  wisely  ponder ;  nor  the  sobs  of  grief 

Lulled  into  sighs  of  rapture;  nor  the  cry 

Of  fierce  defiance  that  again  is  still. 

Be  patient — patient  with  our  frail  belief, 

And  stay  it  yet  a  little  ere  we  die. 

O  opulent  life  of  ours,  though  dispossessed 
Of  treasure  after  treasure !     Youth  most  fair 
Went  first,  but  left  its  priceless  coil  of  hair — 
Moaned  over  sleepless  nights,  kissed  and  caressed 
Through  drip  and  blur  of  tears  the  tenderest. 
And  next  went  Love — the  ripe  rose  glowing  there 
Her  very  sister!     ...     It  is  here;  but  where 
Is  she,  of  all  the  world  the  first  and  best  ? 
And  yet  how  sweet  the  sweet  earth  after  rain — 
How  sweet  the  sunlight  on  the  garden  wall 
Across  the  roses — and  how  sweetly  flows 
The  limpid  yodel  of  the  brook  again! 
And  yet — and  yet  how  sweeter  after  all, 
The  smouldering  sweetness  of  a  dead  red  rose! 
190 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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AN     INITIAL     FINE    OF    25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


FEB  27  19-3 


MIA 


MAR  131935 


** 


29T937 
FEB      2  1939 

MAY  19 


26Jan'49!B 

£/&* 


REC'D  LD 


319S7 


LD  21-50m-l,'£ 


586417 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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